


Feast of All Saints

by chewysugar



Category: Beauty and the Beast (2017)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Bisexual Adam, Clothed Sex, Costume Parties & Masquerades, F/M, Halloween, Heterosexual Sex, Implied Adam/Lumiere, Literary References & Allusions, Outdoor Sex, Post Curse, Post-Coital Cuddling, Red Riding Hood Elements, Romance, Teasing, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 22:28:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12220236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chewysugar/pseuds/chewysugar
Summary: Donned in the guise of a wolf, Adam hunts a woman in a red during a night of ghostly tales, masks and debauchery.





	Feast of All Saints

Adam stared into the eyes of a beast. His ornate floor length mirror provided him an unobstructed view of a face turned feral, of long claws at the end of graceful fingertips. Despite having been trapped in the body of a twisted animal for years untold, Adam was not at all bothered by his changed appearance. He smiled, the face paint around his lips only adding to the visage of an inhuman creature.  
  
He turned, the better to see the long, thick tail poking out of the deep, murky purple of his coattails. Crafted from russet fox and wolf furs, the tail--and the ears poking out of Adam's golden hair--would have looked ridiculous had they been crafted by any ordinary seamstress.  
  
Adam peered at the make up around his lips--at the deep golds and rusty oranges around his lips, and the dark black along his nose.  
  
He looked a perfect wolf of a man, and when he tied an intricate black Venetian mask over his eyes, the entire costume came together. Angular and dark, the mask looked like the eyes of a wolf.  
  
Adam grinned, and then growled theatrically at his reflection.  
  
Far below in the ballroom, the sounds of a lively orchestra played on and on, the toccata creating a frenzied sense of frivolity. Maestro Cadenza certainly knew how to outdo himself, and he was only one piece of the grand spectacle the Adam had turned his castle into for this of all nights.  
  
Satisfied with his appearance, Adam left his chambers. He could feel his castle home practically pulsing with life, an unusual thing to take pride in given that he'd loathed his prison of stone walls for years. Now, knowing what awaited, hearing the laughter and shrieks of delight and the music, things couldn't have been any better.  
  
Although that wasn't entirely true. Things could have been better, Adam thought to himself as he strode across his bedchamber. But as the one person who could have made the affair of the night all the better had disappeared hours beforehand to prepare for the party, the only thing he could hope for was that he would find her in the rooms below.  
  
Stepping into the corridor flooded every one of Adam's senses. He heard the shrill jaunt of the symphony and the intoxicated laughter and screams of his guests. The toothsome smell of roasting turkey and vegetables wafted through the halls, beneath it the sweeter aroma of pumpkin and maple and something dizzyingly sugary. He could feel the warmth of every lit fire against his skin, could taste the excitement in the air. Orange light flowed from every sconce and torch and candelabra on the corridors as Adam walked towards the stairs; blown glass, shaped like round pumpkins and painted orange with black faces of varying expression graced each light source.  
  
A bevy of children, dressed in the guise of assorted hobgoblins, raced passed the king as he stood at the top of the grand staircase. The little imps skidded to a halt; from the corner of his eye, Adam saw the hellions whispering to each other and pointing.  
  
He paused, hand on the balustrade. Then, with a sudden violence, he turned, crouched in an attack stance and let out a tremendous roar.  
  
The demonlings shrieked with delight and scampered down the corridor, thrilled at having seen the legendary beast king first hand. Smirking, Adam began the descent into his dominion of the macabre and the fantastical.  
  
Thin spun silks draped all along the banister, a hodge-podge of make believe cobwebs so dense and haphazard that Cogsworth had nearly died of fright when he'd first seen them. The gossamer webbing dripped icily to the floor from every sconce and end table. This close to the heart of the din, the king could hear the orchestra far better, so that the very walls of the castle seemed to breathe the music of the night.  
  
Before him, the grand entrance hall spread out in a display of sheer bacchanalia: dozens upon dozens of his guests mingled and laughed, sipping from goblets of honeyed mead and mulled wine. All were dressed in the guise of some fantastical creature or other; all wore masks similar to their king's, and all delighted in the thrill of this autumnal masquerade.  
  
Adam had wrestled with the decision to host the masque for months. Returned to his humanity, he'd wanted nothing more than to throw himself into the activities that had delighted him before his curse, and the annual feast and masquerade to celebrate the grandeur of autumn and the specters of the night had been one of his favorite festivities to partake in.  
  
He moved among the masked and the costumed--all guests from the country round, many of them from Villeneuve. Inviting the peasantry was a recent addition to the proceedings; Adam's mother had insisted on having those who worked hardest to keep the kingdom afloat at the annual celebration in the old days; she'd provided the costumes and they, their own brand of country charm. But after the queen's death, the celebration of fall had turned to a more debauched affair as Adam had grown older.  
  
Now he was pleased to have found a happy medium between candied apples and orgies in the dining hall.  
  
He nodded at every man, woman and child he passed, not knowing who they were on account of their masked faces. Pretend witches and fairy queens giggled from behind lace fans; knights of yore and storybook beasts laughed and disappeared behind clouds of smoke as the king made his way trough them towards the ballroom.  
  
Resplendent on the best of days, the grand chamber was now a bastion of all things bountiful and macabre; tables lined the walls, their russet cloths protecting hard oak from tureens of hot butternut squash soup and roast turkey. Pumpkins and nuts and and fat apples tumbled from wicker baskets; steaming copper bowls of hot cider frothed with the force of a fog blanket. The music played with a might and a meaning; men and women danced and laughed and loitered in costumed clutters, and these were only effects of the physical and mundane.  
  
Black smoke fluttered along the ceiling in the shape of bats; several candles floated in midair; the wings worn by several of the guests were too translucent to be made of Oriental silks; the other rooms on the ground floor that had been decorated for the feast had their own enchantments placed upon them, all at the behest of the favor Adam had called in of the sorceress Agathe.  
  
He could see Agathe now, hunched and clothed in black; her hair was seer and grey and her face wizened. She'd thought it a fitting disguise for such an affair, and delighted in pointing a gnarled finger at the less modestly dressed along the maidens and feigning a curse.  
  
Agathe caught Adam's eye, and he was quite sure she winked at him. Cordial as they were with each other, the memory of the enchantress in her true form still sent shivers through Adam's body. It was with immense relief that he felt someone catch him by the elbow and twirl him round.  
  
"Mon dieu, if it isn't the Big Bad Wolf!" Plumette smiled like the sun from behind a mask of emerald and amethyst feathers. Her gown was black with real peacock feathers sewn among the folds and tails of her skirt.  
  
"Careful. My kind of animal has been known to feast on little birds, feathers and all."  
  
Plumette slapped the king playfully with a broad, feathered fan. "I am not a dove, _mon roi_. I am an elegant peacock, the kind that eats serpents and lizards and all manner of horrible beasts."  
  
"I thought only the male of the species had such proud plumage."  
  
"As if that were to stop me!" Lumiere appeared, as if from thin air, at Plumette's elbow.  
  
Adam arched his brows. His keeper of the house was dressed in a white tunic that clung to one shoulder and stopped somewhere above his knees. He was one of the many with enchanted wings, long and majestic as an angel's, which flowed in the colors of the rainbow. A painted gold bow was slung about his shoulder, along with a quiver of arrows.  
  
"A butterfly?" Adam suggested as he helped himself to a goblet of smokey cider.  
  
"Eros in all his glory," Lumiere said, giving Plumette a peck on her cheek.  
  
" _Trey Greco romaine_ ," Adam remarked. "And perfectly fitting for one of your tastes, my friend."  
  
"Something that you know all about," Plumette said with another dazzling smile. She cooked her arm around Lumiere's waist and gave him a pinch in an area that made him giggle like an inexperienced youth.  
  
"Someone," Lumiere laughed, "had to teach our prince the finer points in life. His father certainly didn't help, even before he popped his clogs."  
  
"I had books," Adam countered. He raised his goblet to his lips and then paused. Through the steam rising from the hot cider--through the knots of costumed and masked dancers--he saw her. Hovering just beyond the shadows, he could have found her anywhere on the best of days. Tonight she was dressed in the starkest crimson costume in all the castle: a tight black bodice with sleeves and skirt of bloodiest red; a hood, equally scarlet, pulled over her head and the dark wine-colored mask she wore obscured her face from view. But Adam knew her as well as he knew his own name.  
  
Plumette and Lumiere did not notice their king's gaze having strayed; they were still too invested in the conversation of his training in the carnal arts back in the days of his youth.  
  
"Books," Lumiere scoffed, "can only go so far. You'd have been well beyond your prime before you finished with them; whereas I certainly helped you get on a good grasp on the subject, pardon the pun."  
  
"And I thank you for that every day," Adam breathed. The scarlet-hooded figure smirked and then slowly sank into the crowd. Barely suppressing a growl, Adam finished off his cider and left Plumette and Lumiere without so much as a word.  
  
He felt a positive beast on the prowl, a wolf sniffing out his prey. Yet this mysterious goddess in red, what with her clever mind and ingenuity, evaded him with all the grace and intelligence of a vixen. She slipped from the ballroom before Adam could grasp her, but the evasion only made his hunger grow all the more ravenous.  
  
He followed his quarry through the eastern door of the ballroom, and found himself engulfed in a sea of blue. Every light and crystallized pumpkin sconce had been bathed in sheer blue silk, casting a deep, oceanic glow over everything. The furniture on the sitting room was upholstered in blue blankets and cushions; the fire glowed blue and the guests were all bathed in blue. Here, a great many costumed children sat and played and scampered about, games of blind man's bluff and charades abounding.

As Adam followed the red hooded woman through the midst, he nearly collided with a circle of older youths about a young woman--some visitor from the Colonies--with straw-blonde dressed in a the fashion of a spell caster; the girl's eyes were covered and she circled about, chanting "the witch, the witch, the pickety witch, who has a kiss for the pickety witch?" The girl lunged at the circle, missed the nearest lad by a hair and latched onto Adam; she stood on tip toe and pressed a kiss to his cheek, then frowned and said, "Is it Theodore?"  
  
Adam shook his head. "No, my darling girl; just a beast on the hunt."  
  
He looked up to see his prey slip through yet another door; heard her teasing laugh, and saw the victorious smile on her face.  
  
Growling again, Adam slipped away from the circle of youths, all of whom had stopped to stare in awe of their king, and made for the door.  
  
Here was the dining hall, consumed by royal purple light; a vast orchid cloth spread over the table where sweets and drinks of all manner were piled high. Mrs. Potts, dressed in earthy greens and flowers--the very picture of a bountiful Mother Earth--whispered to the hooded, red-masked figure as she paused near the middle of the table. The woman picked a pomegranate from the spread, plucked several seeds and passed them over her lips. Adam saw her eyes from behind her mask turn his way as she licked the juice of the fruit from her fingers after popping each jeweled seed into her mouth.  
  
Heat gathered like a storm in the pit of the king's stomach; the hooded girl laughed again and was once more on her way. Mrs. Potts followed Adam with her eyes as he continued his pursuit through the purple dining hall; but the housekeeper said not a word as the king exited into the adjoining chamber.  
  
The light was green in this room--the deep forest green of ancient pines. It was dark, gloomy like a midnight trail through the woods. Cogsworth, bedecked in the guise of an ancient, venerable wizard, sat on a comfortable armchair near the emerald fire. He spun a haunting tale of an ancient mariner, his voice a rich, rumbling eddy that held his audience in its spell. At first, Adam could not see that which he'd followed from the ballroom; the green light was so dense and deep that even to his keen eyes there seemed no way through.  
  
Then, he spied the subtle shift of blood red near the corner of the chamber. She was whispering something to young Chip, who was dressed in pale white robes of a ghost.  
  
Adam crossed the room; the hooded figure glanced his way and then hurried on, weaving behind Cogsworth's armchair and towards a hidden door near the bookcase. The secret passage's entrance slid shut just as the king in the wolf's clothes reached it.  
  
She was playing with him, drawing out their hunt until he grew mad with need for her. He was already achingly aroused, his sex confined by the tightness of his breeches; his mind swam with desire so that he forgot which panel along the wall of the green chamber opened the passageway.  
  
Adam snarled just as Cogsworth reached a particular gruesome passage of his tale; the audience gasped, but had no time to discern where the animalistic noise had come from; Adam slammed his hand against the false stone and the false wall gave way, leading to a long stone passage.  
  
The king hurried through, breathing in the perfume of the woman who'd come this way; he could practically taste her scent on his tongue; feel the heat of her body against his skin. Oh, but he was going to make her pay for this dearly.  
  
He entered the library on the ground floor; the massive maze of bookcases and ladders was aglow with the orange life of autumn; there were no guests here, but Adam could feel the presence of his prey--heard the soft, steady shuffle of her footsteps along the ground. He breathed in her scent, felt himself grow even harder. The false claws pressed against his fingernails bit into the flesh of his palms as he envisioned all he would do to the tantalizing, teasing vision once he had her in his grasp.  
  
A laugh, rich and seductive, purred from behind a row of bookshelves. Narrowing his eyes, Adam all but launched himself across the floor. He sidestepped several chairs and ladders, until, at last, he had her in his sight.  
  
But she was already at the door leading to the western rooms. She glanced over her shoulder, her mask redder than ever in the glow of the golden-orange light. Licking her lips, she opened the door and disappeared, Adam in hot pursuit.  
  
He crossed the threshold into a white hall, just in time to see the red cape vanish through the door to the courtyard patio.  
  
A sound caught Adam's sensitive ear, and he paused, hand on the brass doorknob that would take him to the vexing girl in red. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw two people hidden in alcove, one dressed in the garbs of a Viking warrior, the other wearing the white iced clothes of some snow spirit.  
  
LeFou and Stanley scarcely noticed the curious gaze of their king as they ground together against the wall, their masks on the floor. The sight of such blatant carnality only severed to remind the king of what he craved--of the hard friction pressing against the front of his breeches.  
  
Still, he couldn't help but grin to himself as he silently passed into the next chamber. This little autumnal celebration was turning out to be more alike to those he'd thrown in the days of his ignorant youth than he'd anticipated; food, music and debauchery--it was all so overwhelmingly nostalgic.  
  
But not enough to waylay the king in his quest to slake the fire in his body.  
  
The chamber before the entrance to the castle grounds was small, dark and glowing with the light of a red scarf thrown across the only source of light. A clock ticked in the mantelpiece, and rang out the midnight hour just as Adam spied his red-cloaked prey through the small window. She moved like a thing from a dream towards the back fields, the night breeze toying with the hem of her crimson cloak.  
  
She was heading for the woods behind the palace.  
  
A flicker of fear dampened the king's desire for a moment; his love knew all about what lived in that forest. Even if the curse had been brought to an end months ago, the beasts in those trees were still just as deadly.  
  
Adam stormed through the door.  
  
The night was dark and thick all around him; a full hunter's moon hung suspended in the sky, golden and bright; fingers of inky black cloud drifted along its face, giving it the shadow to fill the dreams of the lesser prepared with fright.  
  
It also provided the perfect light for the wolf-king to follow the red woman with. A crisp breeze, chilled with the threat of oncoming winter and carrying the last ghost of summer in its hold, sent red and brown and yellow leaves dancing like wraiths along the grass. Adam's boots crunched along ground nipped by frost as he left the lights of the castle behind.  
  
The girl in the red hood walked at her ease into the shadow of the woods. Adam followed her, soon swallowed by the tall, darkness of the trees. Dead branches stretched beseechingly to the sky, bare and trembling in the grips of a breeze that whispered like Death; Adam could hear the girl's feet shatter the dry, dead leaves and fallen twigs on the forest floor; he saw her, stark and resplendent in scarlet, disappear between the thick trunks of the trees. Adam's heart pounded in his ears, a combination of desire and anger.  
  
Deeper and deeper into the woods they went, until darkness and death surrounded both pursued and pursuer. Just when Adam had mustered up the nerve to call out and put an end to this game of chase, the trees thinned into a vast clearing with gentle rolling knolls and a sea of rotund, orange pumpkins growing on vines along patches of earth.  
  
A fine mist dusted the red of the woman's cloak. Adam slowed his pace as he approached her--a wolf on the prowl.  
  
"Weren't you ever told that it's dangerous to stray off the path?" Adam could smell her desire, practically feel her heartbeat even from the several feet that separated them.  
  
The woman looked over her shoulder, and her scarlet hood fell from her head; she'd removed her mask, and her exquisite face wore a placid expression--serene innocence in place of the coy, clever siren she'd been.  
  
"I was also told never to speak to strangers," Belle said, her voice as soft as the night breeze.  
  
"But I'm no stranger. I'm the Big Bad Wolf." Adam closed the distance between them, pressing the front of his body to Belle's back. She gasped at the feel of him so hard and wanting, her body sinking into his touch.  
  
"Why, Mister Wolf...what big eyes you have."  
  
Adam trailed his hand to her throat. "All the better to see you with, my dear." He traced a line down Belle's throat and to the valley between her breasts.  
  
"And what big hands you have." Belle's breath hitched as Adam cupped her through her bodice.  
  
"All the better to touch you with, my dear." Her flesh felt exquisite beneath his touch; her body rocked into him, driving him to near madness. He breathed in her smell, pressing his lips against the skin of her throat.  
  
"What beautiful lips you have," Belle gasped.  
  
"All the better to taste you with my dear."  
  
Belle snaked one hand between their bodies and gripped Adam through his breeches. She let out the smallest purr of a laugh. "And what a big--  
  
Abandoning self-control, Adam silenced her with a consuming kiss. With the savagery of a wolf, he caressed her, pulling her even closer, the friction between them an alluring promise of pleasure that left both gasping and stealing breath through the heat of their kiss.

He wanted to consume her—to devour her like the ravenous wolf he was dressed as. Belle was the shining light in the threat of the oncoming winter—the glow of home and happiness and love; and like any flame, she burned hot and bright and scorching to the point where Adam felt himself mad with need for her.

Their kiss deepened; Adam ground against Belle, his fingers sinking into her flesh. She groaned, and then, like a ghost, slipped from his grasp and turned to face him. Her lips were raw and red as the hood she wore; her eyes burned with heat, and her smile was all at once teasing and triumphant. She backed away, crooking her finger and beckoning Adam onward.

He was a king; he’d been a powerful beast; he’d taken part in grandiose debauchery the kind to shame even the most seasoned of hedonists; he’d had women and men alike—sometimes at once. He’d tasted the fruits of desire only to scoff at the tempting sweetness of it not being enough for his palette.

Belle had turned all that to waste and ruin—Belle had shed a light on the cloak of dark debauchery that Adam had tried to conceal himself in when he’d been reeling from years of neglect and cruel abuse. She had seen through it, had guided him out of it, and despite the splendor of this party, Adam had no desire to return to those wasted days and nights.

He only wanted her, and if he had to crawl to her in the dirt of this pumpkin patch, he would do so gladly.

Again, Belle surprised him by shrugging her scarlet cloak from her shoulders. It fell to the ground like a bloody ghost; eyes still holding Adam in a trance, Belle slowly, unlaced the front of her black bodice.

Adam growled, and tore his mask from his face as Belle let her breasts spill free from the confines of her gown.

Her voice an alluring siren’s call, she said, “Hungry, Mister Wolf?”

“Starving.”

He launched himself at her, pinning her to the ground. He kissed her, his hands roving over her bare breasts, feeling her heartbeat and her rapid, needful breathing.

Belle tangled her fingers in his hair, urging him lower as he nipped at the flesh of her neck, at the sensitive buds of her nipples. She gasped, writhing beneath him, driving him almost to the brink as her core pressed against the confined hardness of his body. He needed her, needed to gorge himself on her until he was satisfied.

When Adam snaked a hand under her skirts, Belle gasped. He trailed a touch as soft as down along the inside of her thighs; and when, at last, he found her sex, slick and warm, Belle parted for him like a split peach.

Her arms coiled around his neck, kissing him as he slid the length of his finger in and out, in and out.

“You’re a temptress, _mon amour_ ,” Adam growled. “Leading a hungry wolf on a chase through the castle.” He tutted, adding another finger and feeling her clench around him. “So wet,” he sighed. “So ready for me.”

“Are you going…to talk…or are you…going to show me…how much of a wolf…you really are…” Belle’s breasts rose and fell in pace with her shallow, gasping breaths.

Under this moonlight, with the mist spiraling around them and the land of the living fading to the cold, death of winter, Adam felt himself at a crossroads. He wanted more than anything to take his Belle here, but didn’t she, one so beautiful and kind and warm, deserve better? She wasn’t an animal, no matter what the rules of this game dictated.

Seeming to sense his hesitation, even as he continued to plume the soft folds of her sex, Belle pursed her lips and…

Adam slowed his teasing strokes.

“Did you roll your eyes at me, little red?”

“Yes, Mister Wolf.” Propping herself up on her elbows, she caressed him through his trousers once more, and then, with sudden, wanton savagery, popped the buttons of his breeches and freed him.

Adam’s breath hitched as Belle’s fingers closed over his hard, silky length. He’d lost the upper hand the second he’d followed her from the ballroom, but now he was nearly at her mercy.

He wanted so many things at once—her, control and abandonment—to surrender to this animalistic urge.

“Going to ruin these costumes,” he breathed as Belle slowly stroked the length of him.

Belle bit her plump, cherry red, bottom lip. She arched her back, kissed him and then whispered, “Then devour me, Mister Wolf.”

Adam seized his control and cast it into the fiery depths of Hell. He grasped Belle under her legs and pulled her onto his lap, feeling the wetness of her sex teasing his aching cock. Part of him wanted to be slow—to tease her the way she’d baited him through the halls of the palace.

But he was a wolf now—hungry and demanding; he was the king of these dead, twisted forests, the ruler of this night of the enchanted and the damned; and she felt oh so magnificent, her body flush with his, her breath against his neck as she kissed his throat.

He took her hard and unrelenting, and she met him strength for strength and touch for searing touch. As the moon looked down on them and the cold wind caressed their skin, Adam devoured his wife, kissing her with ravenous hunger; Belle clung to him, biting at his lips and sinking her fingernails through his own cloak. Adam’s own fake claws fisted into the ground, tearing clumps of earth as she rode him.

She pulled him backwards, so that she was once again pinned beneath him, grasping at his hips as he slid into her slick, tight core.

Belle gasped, her face a rosy glow in the gloom of the autumn night. Adam felt the tightness in the pit of his belly coil; he lapped at the flesh of Belle’s breasts, filled her to the hilt. Belle arched her neck, her sex holding him in beautiful agony as she fell from the precipice of absolute pleasure.

One of the imps of the night stole into Adam’s mind, even as he grew nearly mindless with ecstasy. He placed a searing kiss on Belle’s lips, then, as the pleasure grew blinding, he threw his head back and let out a piercing, shuddering howl. The sound filled the night, triumphant and alpha—the wolf making his territory known.

When the grips of his orgasm subsided, Adam looked, nearly boneless, down at Belle, only to find his wife and the love of his life staring at him with amusement on her flushed, beautiful face.

“Really now?” She sighed, and pulled Adam’s face to her neck so he could taste her skin once more. “Howling? That’s very theatrical of you, _mon loup garou.”_

“I couldn’t help myself, _mon belle_.” He breathed in the smell of her—of her skin and her hair. Weak as a pup, he nestled his face against her neck, smiling as she curled her arm around him. “Besides,” he murmured, “it’s to be expected on a night like this. _La petite morté_ , as I’m sure you’ve heard.”

“Ah. The spirits overcame you, did they?”

“Something definitely did over _come_ both of us—ouch!” Belle slapped him playfully on the shoulder; Adam had to admit that the use of the euphemism was rather immature. But like the howl, it couldn’t be helped. Morning light would chase away the enchantment and mystery—winter would claim the crisp, glory of autumn and plunge the kingdom into cold darkness. And though the king appreciated the beauty of the season, this night was the last opportunity for all those in his lands—himself and Belle included—to revel in noise and finery and temptation—to celebrate life by making a pageantry of death.

Belle kissed his cheek, then sat up and righted her skirts and corset. “Back to the land of the dead, I think.”

Adam sighed, and looked up at the glowing harvest moon.

“For now,” he said, acquiescing despite every fiber of his being telling him to remain here with her in this fairy tale scene. He took a deep breath of the chilled night air. “Going to be a long winter,” he said, almost to himself.

Belle, collecting her crimson cloak from the ground, smirked at him over her shoulder. “Well then, it appears that we’re both going to have ample opportunity to keep each other warm.”

Adam growled and tried to lunge at her, but his breeches, being around his knees, tripped him up. He landed face-first in the soil of the pumpkin patch. Blinking dirt from his eyes, he saw the end of Belle’s red cloak disappear into the trees.

The chase was on again; the wolf on the prowl once more.

**Author's Note:**

> So many allusions in this that it isn't even funny. Hopefully this helps you all kick off the Halloween season. 
> 
> Let me know what you think!


End file.
